Elegy for Hermione
by BookEater
Summary: When Hermione's parents don't pick her up at the train station, she knows something has gone terribly wrong. Rating may go up. Please R/R!
1. Prologue

Prologue:   
  
Hermione couldn't help feeling a bit wistful as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, officially concluding her sixth year. Mrs. Weasley had come to collect Harry and Ron, and after bidding them goodbye, Hermione found a bench where she could wait for her parents to pick her up. Although she was normally a very patient person, and her parents very late, Hermione glanced at her watch with mild irritation.   
  
As the minutes ticked by torturously, she allowed herself to reflect on the previous year, and the way she and her friends had changed. Harry and Ron were a little more mature now, perhaps due to their war-torn childhoods and the pickup in attacks on Muggle households. More than one student had broken down in tears in the Great Hall at mail time in response to insensitive ministry letters sent to notify them of their parents' deaths. She could only fell fortunate that it hadn't happened to her.   
  
And then there was Snape--she had become (after Dumbledore's intervention and a ridiculous amount of begging) his assistant for the second half of the year, and would continue to assist him until graduation. While he still treated Harry and Ron with the same acidity, he and Hermione had developed a sort of comfortable companionship. They worked together with remarkable progress, as Hermione's approach to a problem differed so wildly from Snape's, and yet they always seemed to end up in the same place. Harry and Ron had already begun to comment about the amount of time Hermione spent in the dungeons, teasing her about looking pale and asking her if she remembered what a window looked like. Hermione usually played along--but she admitted, though only to herself, that she enjoyed Snape's company rather too much, considering.   
  
It seemed that Snape felt the same way, because at the end of their last session together, he'd stopped Hermione as she reached for the door, an uncharacteristic timbre in his voice.   
  
"Hermione," he murmured, almost reluctantly. She had looked at him expectantly, trying not to reveal the excitement she felt.   
  
"You've been an... adequate... assistant. I would like for you to join me next year as well, if you're willing." She had smiled, nodded, and left just in time to savor his look of relief.   
  
Coming back to herself, Hermione glanced again at her watch. Her parents were more than half an hour late. Vaguely, she wondered what had held them up--five minutes was characteristic, but anything of this nature smacked of serious trouble. She sat pensively, desperately eyeing the bustling crowd in search of a familiar face. Ticking, her watch continued to remind her of her parents' bizarre tardiness. Another quarter-hour passed, then a half. Hermione was beginning to panic. Something had to be wrong. Her breathing sped up, and tears began to well up in her eyes.   
  
Another hour had passed before she actually began to cry, huddling to herself so no one would see that something was wrong. This was the nightmare she'd always had as a child--her parents promising to pick her up, and then leaving her alone.   
  
Her heart nearly stopped when a gentle hand was laid on her shoulder. Whirling to face whoever had intruded on her sadness, she met the gaze of Albus Dumbledore. She opened her mouth to say something, but his expression silenced her.   
  
"Hermione, you'd best return to Hogwarts with me. We have much to discuss." 


	2. Sanctuary

A/N: Hello everyone! Please be kind to me--this is my first fanfic. I hope you are all enjoying it so far, or at least that you are intrigued. Please let me know how you like this with a nice review! (Wow, I'm shameless already.) By the way, this is going to be an SS/HG fic, so if that bothers you… at least you already know. Happy reading! REVIEW!   
  
Chapter One  
  
Hermione sat staring at her tear-stained face, dimly reflected in the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk. Fawkes had perched on her shoulder, and was singing to her softly. Dumbledore had perceptively realized her need for privacy after his devastating news, and had encouraged her to take as much time as she needed to recuperate in his office.   
  
He'd apparated them directly to the gates of Hogwarts, waited for a few moments, and then walked her quickly to his office. Hermione couldn't help noticing, as she followed him, that the halls were clear and silent as the grave.   
  
With typical foresight, the Headmaster must have known she wouldn't want to see anyone. Or that she couldn't see anyone--not if she were to go along with his plan to protect her. Once they were seated on opposite sides of his desk, he looked at her for a long moment, and then began to speak. He hadn't even offered her a lemon drop.   
  
"Hermione," he sighed, "I am so sorry it was I who had to inform you of this. But your parents are dead." Even though this was exactly what she'd expected him to say, Hermione's body was suddenly wracked with sobs.   
  
Dumbledore had shushed her gently, and then informed her that she, too, was supposed to be dead--she'd insisted on taking the train home even though her parents had wanted her home the night before.   
  
Fortunately, Harry and Ron had been the only others to share her car on the train, and there had been few students taking it anyway, as the Hogwarts Express was exceptionally vulnerable to one of Voldemort's terrorist attacks. Her house had simply been blown up. No torture, no unforgivables--only the Dark Mark and a fatal explosion that destroyed everything she held dear. And she, Hermione Granger, was supposed to be dead.   
  
"What do I do now?" had been the only question she could manage through her tears.   
  
"This may hurt you dearly, Hermione," Dumbledore whispered, "but you must press the advantage those bastards have given you." Hermione had started at his language, but she was also comforted by the fact that even the always unruffled Headmaster could feel pain for her loss.   
  
"Until Voldemort is defeated, my dear, you cannot again enter the land of the living. I alone know of your continued existence, and I alone, with your permission, will guard the secret until you are safe again."   
  
"But my classes--"  
  
"They will be taken care of. I am going to give you a choice, Hermione--remain at Hogwarts and do so under my private tutelage or..." He seemed reluctant to offer her the other choice. "We can take this to the Ministry and trust them to protect you."   
  
"I will not be entrusted to the Ministry," she snarled. "But I can't remained cooped up in here forever! I'll waste away and never see my friends again!"   
  
"Have you any other solutions, Hermione?" asked the Headmaster, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"I..." she paused, wondering whether she should surrender her secret. "IbrewedapotionlastyearandIcanturninvisiblewheneverIwantto."   
  
"What?"   
  
"I was brewing an invisibility potion and I...well...I altered it. As an experiment, you know? And then when I tried it, I thought it hadn't worked until I wanted to become invisible so badly that it happened. And it...it didn't wear off. See?" she drifted in and out of the realm of invisibility, watching as Dumbledore stared, shocked for the first time in his years as Headmaster.   
  
Her voice took on an air of desperation when she spoke again.   
  
"Please, Professor Dumbledore, let me attend my own classes. I swear I won't speak to anyone, and I brought a tape recorder that fits in my pocket so I can just record the lectures and--"   
  
"Hermione, it's just not probable!" he exclaimed. "Can you imagine the temptation to speak to your friends? The pain you'll feel while you watch them and can't join them? When you witness their grief as I tell them you're no longer with us?"   
  
"Professor," Hermione insisted, "Being able to see them is more comforting than relying on someone else to tell me how they are. And I need to receive the information offered in those classes--actually watching the lectures is by far more effective than the tutelage of an already busy man who, though of formidable intelligence, cannot be an expert in every field. You can trust me, Professor Dumbledore. I won't reveal myself to another living soul." She smirked, "Nor any of the ghosts, for that matter."   
  
Dumbledore sighed, and nodded reluctantly. "Very well, Hermione. I consent--but only if you can prove your resolve to me. I will call Professor McGonagall to my office now, to inform her of the bad news. And, although I know this will hurt, I want you to watch her and still maintain your composure. If you can't handle the strain, she is one of the few people I could trust to keep the secret, although it would lend authenticity if she still believed you to be dead." Hermione nodded bravely, blinking back fresh tears.   
  
"Ah," exclaimed the Headmaster. "It seems Minerva will not have to be summoned--she is on the way already, along with our dear Professor Snape. Perhaps you should..."   
  
But Hermione had already disappeared. 


	3. Test

Chapter Two  
  
Hermione had moved to stand in a shadowed corner of the room, and recoiled into it when her Professors entered the office, despite rationally knowing she was invisible. Both of them looked a bit tired, and Hermione realized that teachers, too, must feel the lethargy brought on by a summer holiday.   
  
"What did you need from me, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked politely, his eyes darting to the corner where Hermione stood.   
  
"Severus and I simply wanted to tell you that we're both going to stay for a few extra days, finishing lesson plans and all that. You're going to have a lot of planning to do if you want to keep up with Hermione next year, eh Snape?" He looked irritated and proud simultaneously, and Hermione cringed. "You don't mind, do you?" she added when she saw the expression on Dumbledore's face.   
  
"Minerva, Severus, I'm so sorry to have to inform you of a most appalling tragedy." His eyes sparkled with tears, and Hermione couldn't help thinking, detachedly, that he would have made a fantastic actor. Both of her professors were beginning to look confused and upset. Hermione steeled herself for what was to come.  
  
"A few nights ago, Miss Hermione Granger and her parents were murdered by Death Eaters. Their house was magically incinerated, and a Dark Mark was seen floating above the ashes of the house. Nothing of… them…remains."   
  
"Please, Albus, tell me it isn't true!" Hermione felt a tear of her own slip down her invisible cheek when Professor McGonagall stared at the Headmaster in disbelief, and was then wracked with terrible sobs. "Tell me this is some sort of cruel joke!" McGonagall moaned, beating the arm of the chair with her fist.  
  
"Minerva, please," Dumbledore murmured as he moved around the desk to comfort the bereaved professor. "I want you to know that I understand your pain. We will dearly miss our Hermione." He put one arm around McGonagall, then both as she turned to squeeze him desperately, sobbing into his robes.   
  
As her mentor wept, Hermione suffered with her--all she could think of was revealing herself, dashing across the room to show Professor McGonagall that everything was okay. More invisible tears began to well up in her eyes, and Hermione bit her lip to keep from making any noise. A sob would doubtless give her away… If she reacted this way to a teacher's grief, even a beloved teacher's, how would she deal with Harry and Ron's?   
  
Suddenly her attention was drawn to Professor Snape, who hadn't uttered a sound. He was staring at his hands, tugging at the pale flesh on one of his palms in a seeming attempt to distract himself. His hair guarded his face from the Professors next to him, but his invisible observer had a better view. Hermione noticed that his jaw was tight, his breathing slightly ragged. His eyes were even blacker than usual, and Hermione notice their uncanny sheen.  
  
"Albus?" he whispered finally. Both of the other Professors stared at him intently. Snape sighed. "You said there were no traces of them…" Hermione saw hope in his face, even as he tried to suppress it. "Is there no chance…"  
  
"None," interrupted the Headmaster. "All of my own investigations lead to her presence with her parents, in their house, at the time of the attack. I have no doubt in my mind that Hermione Granger is dead." McGonagall began sobbing again, but Professor Snape simply nodded and rose abruptly.   
  
"Then I have failed her," he declared, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes and not responding when he was asked not to blame himself.  
  
"I have work to do," he snarled, stalking out of the office with halting steps. McGonagall soon followed suit, still in hysterics. Dumbledore closed the door behind them gently, and turned to see a sobbing Hermione.   
  
"Why do we have to cause them so much pain?" she asked, then broke down completely. Dumbledore moved to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.   
  
"Sometimes, my dear, we must cause pain for those we love in order to protect them from greater loss. A time will come, Hermione, when you will be in a position to help us all in ways that others cannot. Are you still determined to go through with this?" Hermione had nodded, determined to follow through with her promise. They were going to believe she was dead, regardless. But if she could watch them at all times… then she might be able to save them.  
  
"Harry and Ron will be receiving letters from me shortly," Dumbledore interrupted. "Perhaps they will pay a visit to me in order to gather further details, as well as to hold a small memorial service for you. I thought I'd warn you so that you could mentally prepare yourself."  
  
Then he had left, allowing Hermione to gather her thoughts and prepare herself for the anguish her seventh year, which she had expected to be filled with joy, would bring.  
  
A/N: Oh, yeah! Maybe a disclaimer might be smart, so here it is: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters or products. The plot is mine. I am making absolutely no money off if it, and I don't have any money to begin with, so it's not worth suing me. This disclaimer applies to all preceding and following chapters, and will not be mentioned again. : ) 


	4. Poem

Hermione's memorial service was humble and short, but the grief felt during the ceremony was tangible and hung in the air like rain about to come crashing down. Every single Hogwarts professor attended, even Trelawney, who murmured something about knowing this would happen before Snape gave her a glare that could shut her up for a week.   
  
Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville were the only students who came, though dozens of others had sent flowers that were arranged around the basalt gravestone, placed in a grotto near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It simply bore her name, the dates of her life, and the words, "A Great Talent, Extinguished Far Too Soon."  
  
Poor Hagrid was bawling uncontrollably, his giant shoulders quaking. Flitwick was leaning against Professor Sprout, sniffling. Even Dumbledore was turning on the waterworks, despite the fact that he knew.  
  
Harry and Ron were both sobbing shamelessly, Harry's arm wrapped tightly about his friend's shoulder as Ron cried against him. They continued to cling to each other, each needing to know that the other was there in a dark hour. Hermione had known they cared for her, but had no idea her death would affect everyone this way.   
  
Dumbledore himself recited the words that sent a wizard or witch's soul to a peaceful rest, after which everyone stood in perfect silence. Leaves rustled as, one by one, each mourner walked slowly away from the memorial stone, either wiping a tear-streaked face or sobbing openly. She was tempted to follow Harry and Ron as they walked away together, but decided not to intrude on their moment--instead, she chose to listen to words addressed to her.  
  
After a while, only Snape remained, a statue. Once he was convinced of his solitude, he moved to kneel gently before the stone, running his fingers delicately across its smooth black surface. Entranced, Hermione crept closer to him, crouching behind a nearby tree despite the fact he couldn't see her anyway.   
  
"I'm not much of a poet," he whispered, "but I have found that another's words express my feelings accurately." His voice was trembling, something Hermione had never heard before. "I am…" he choked out the words with considerable effort. "I am going to miss you. You are the best student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching."   
  
He reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope with Hermione's name written in a spidery hand, placing it gingerly at the foot of the gravestone.   
  
"And I would that you had been more than that," he gasped, before burying his face in his hands and crying silently. Hermione could only watch, frozen as she beheld her most feared instructor in a state of complete vulnerability. He cried like a man who had not cried in years, and Hermione didn't doubt this was the case. He calmed down quickly, the floodgates closed again, but sat at the foot of the stone for quite sometime, his raw grief and regret etched into his face. For the second time since her charade had begun, Hermione fought an overwhelming desire to reveal herself. If only she could touch him, somehow let him know that she had heard his confession, or that she hadn't left him to suffer all alone. She had no doubt that Snape always suffered in solitude.  
  
Before she could do anything rash, Professor Snape rose, whispered a final goodbye, and walked slowly back towards the school. Hermione knew he was lonely in his grief, and sat in silence herself until she could no longer see him. Then, unable to help herself, she dove for the envelope he had left behind.   
  
The paper was thick, and smelled like old books and herbs. Hermione tried not to smile through her tears as she opened it gently, careful not to damage either the envelope or its contents. She recognized the poem immediately, and allowed herself to become visible again as she crept behind a tree to read it expressed in Snape's impeccable penmanship.  
  
"Elegy for Jane  
  
(My student, thrown by a horse)  
  
"I remember the neck curls, limp and damp as tendrils;  
  
And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;  
  
And how, once startled into talk, the light syllables leaped for her,  
  
And she balanced in the delight of her thought,  
  
"A wren, happy, tail into the wind,  
  
Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.  
  
The shade sang with her;   
  
The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,   
  
And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.  
  
"Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,  
  
Even a father could not find her:  
  
Scraping her cheek against straw,  
  
Stirring the clearest water.  
  
"My sparrow, you are not here,  
  
Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.  
  
The sides of wet stones cannot console me,  
  
Nor the moss, wound with the last light.  
  
"If only I could nudge you from this sleep,  
  
My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.  
  
Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:  
  
I, with no rights in this matter,  
  
Neither father nor lover."  
  
Hermione read the poem over and over, pondering the statement that, believing her dead, Snape had made. Drained of tears, she folded the letter gently, placing it inside her robes next to her heart. Even then, Hermione knew she would treasure that poem for the rest of her life, though for what reasons she didn't know. As she made her way towards Hogwarts, she disappeared from sight like the spirit everyone thought her to be.  
  
A/N: "Elegy for Jane" is a lovely poem by Theodore Roethke. I've always loved it, so I decided to apply it to an SS/HG story. Please review! I love to get feedback. ;) 


	5. Close

A/N: Sorry it's been so long! I've been out of town for an extremely long time! But, now that I'm back, AND hooked up to the internet from my own comfortable room, I'll have many more opportunities to write stories for you! Please, continue to review, as I appreciate your feedback and take it very seriously. Now, without further ado, I give you the long-awaited chapter 5!   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Hermione generally kept to herself as she waited for school to start. Dumbledore had granted her a set of private quarters in a long-forgotten part of the school--even Filch's footprints could not be detected there, and a full inch of dust impeded their steps as they approached Hermione's new home for the first time. It was, appropriately enough, in the darkest part of the dungeons, and Hermione smirked when the Headmaster informed her that even the Bloody Baron was wary of trespassing in this part of the school.   
  
Her only consolation had been that, when Dumbledore had finally left her to her own devices, Hermione had discovered a collection of tomes unseen for centuries. Many of them were obviously too dangerous even for the restricted section of the library, but Hermione had never let a book frighten her and she wasn't about to start now. She swore to herself she'd peruse them later--after she'd unpacked and prepared the private potions lab for her own use. Maybe, Hermione thought for a moment, living like this would indeed have its benefits.   
  
Before the school year started, Hermione also realized she'd need to perfect her sneaking skills. Without using magic, Hermione was soon able to creep around as silently as Mrs. Norris, even escaping the feline's notice from time to time. She also came to know Hogwarts, the dungeons especially, with an expertise unmatched even by the Marauders' Map. Occasionally Dumbledore would take a stroll down to the dungeons, whistling loudly and eating a specific type of candy--a silent signal to Hermione, who would doubtless notice his presence--that he wanted to check up on her in his office that evening. The candy, of course, denoted the day's password.   
  
On one such day, as Hermione was creeping in the general direction of the tune to "Hit Me Baby One More Time" (Dumbledore's musical tastes equaled his clothing preferences), the dungeons' other (living) inhabitant decided to make an appearance and complain. Hermione was reaching out to tap the Headmaster's wrist in acknowledgement of his request when the door to the potions classroom burst open so violently that she nearly knocked said acid pops out of Dumbledore's hand. With a slight hiss of annoyance, she moved back to press against the wall, not yet willing to risk slipping by her irate professor.   
  
Snape, who was apparently very perceptive, glanced furtively around the hallway. He then cocked an eyebrow at Dumbledore as if to inquire whether he was alone. The Headmaster, however, only smiled benignly and innocently offered an acid pop.   
  
"Merlin, Albus, you know I loathe those things," Snape sneered with disgust. "Almost as much as I despise that rancid Britney Spears." Hermione stifled a giggle when the odious name flew from Snape's mouth. His eyes darted again to the place where she was standing, and she silenced herself immediately. Dumbledore again grinned idiotically.   
  
"Well, since my company is most unwelcome," chuckled the Headmaster, "I suppose I shall leave you to your work, Severus. But accept just one word of advice--do go out into the sun sometimes. You don't have to look like the vampire your students seem to think you are." Hermione again fought the laughter, though more successfully this time. Snape, on the other hand, was not amused.   
  
"Albus, I suggest you allow me to do my job, rather than give me inane advice about frolicking through the daisies. I trust I can relegate such duties to old men who are off their rockers."   
  
"I still think it would do you some good, Severus--we can't be sane all the time," Dumbledore remarked sagely.   
  
"Speak for yourself!"   
  
"Have a lovely day, Severus..." Dumbledore was now retreating down the hallway, the Potions Master staring daggers at his employer's back.   
  
Hermione pressed herself harder against the wall and waited for Snape to retreat back into his workroom. Much to her dismay, he again scrutinized the hallway with those dark eyes of his, obviously expecting to see something. Then, nearly sending her into a panic, he lifted his nose slightly into the air and sniffed delicately. Hermione closed her eyes and prayed to the powers that be for him not to smell her--which, considering his position as one of the world's best Potions Masters, was futile.   
  
By the time she felt brave enough to open her eyes again, however, she saw that his own expression was confused and even upset. He paled as though he had seen--or in this case, smelled--a ghost.   
  
"Hermione?" he whispered, the disbelief apparent in his voice. The girl he was addressing remained stock still and pressed herself even more desperately against the wall. After one last careful sniff, Snape shook his head at himself, stalked into the potions classroom and slammed the door. With a final sigh of relief, Hermione tore into a silent run, not stopping until she was once again safe in her own rooms.   
  
Unfortunately, her problems for the day had not yet ended--as Hermione shut and warded the door behind her, she detected a sound coming from her study. It was... humming... Mozart, if Hermione was correct.   
  
Silently drawing her wand from the back pocket of her jeans (she had taken to wearing Muggle clothing, as no one was going to see her anyway), she lifted it cautiously in front of her and proceeded towards the sound. With her back to the wall, Hermione slid towards the open doorway, peering carefully around the corner into the room, lit by a roaring fire.   
  
"My, my, what a mess..." grumbled the strange intruder, obviously male. Hermione cringed when she realized there were still a few borrowed books she'd left lying around the room.   
  
She poked her head into the room just a bit more--enough to see one translucent arm directing books to the shelves and items of furniture to the places in which Hermione had left them. Raising her wand and steeling herself to attack, Hermione gathered all of her Gryffindor courage and, with a savage yell, leapt into plain view of the intruder.   
  
"All right," she bellowed, "Who are you and what the hell do you think you're doing in my chambers?" 


	6. Barnabas

A/N: Once again, I appreciate the reviews! Those that have pointed out potential holes in the plot, etc. will be satisfied! A warning, though--I have absolutely no idea where this story is going. So, if you have any good ideas, do leave them in one of your reviews. They just might pop up later! :)   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
The intruder stood stock still, then whipped around to face Hermione in righteous indignation. Of course, she wasn't sure what emotion he was displaying, as his ghostly face was mutilated beyond recognition. It looked as though his flesh had melted, cascading down his cheeks and making his fierce eyes seem sunken and even more intimidating. Unwilling to lower her wand, Hermione stood her ground, her hand trembling slightly.   
  
"Your chambers?" he asked incredulously. "In case you didn't realize, these chambers have been mine since my days as Potions Master here at Hogwarts!" He floated towards Hermione in an attempt to instill even greater fear into her. "I have been haunting these chambers since before the birth of Albus Dumbledore!"   
  
Unable to think of a reply, Hermione simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged, still holding her wand in an iron grip. Her fellow... resident, she supposed... seemed willing to continue the staring contest indefinitely. It was going to be up to her to break the impasse.   
  
"Well," she sighed, "I have to live somewhere..."   
  
"Oh, so you find it proper to intrude upon me?"   
  
"It's not as if Dumbledore gave me a choice!"   
  
"That explains everything--the silly man, thinking he can foist babysitting charges on a long-retired and much-respected former faculty member of Hogwarts--"  
  
"I hardly need a babysitter, you stuffy old codger--"  
  
"How DARE you speak to Barnabas Jones in such a manner?" Hermione stopped short, her eyes widening as though she was a child meeting Santa Claus.  
  
"You're Barnabas Jones?" she asked ecstatically. "Well, that explains everything! I've read all about you in 'Hogwarts: A History'! You're the inventor of the Enervating Potion!"   
  
At that, the flattered ghost paused, a silvery blush creeping across his ravaged features. Hermione sighed with relief as his demeanor softened.   
  
"Ah, yes, that potion was the death of me! A bit too much acid, you know..." He paused, a hopeful expression on his face."So, you've heard of me?" Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "And you've read all of 'Hogwarts: A History'?" Another nod. "Quite impressive, young lady. And might I ask how a talented youngster such as yourself ended up down here in the dungeons? Not to brag, but even the Bloody Baron himself is afraid to traverse these hallways!"  
  
"Well, Professor Jones--"  
  
"Oh, call me Barnabas! And you are...?"  
  
Hermione proceeded to tell Barnabas her twisted tale, and was glad to see him respond with considerable interest. Unfortunately, she had to trudge through a lot of backstory, as he apparently hadn't ventured out of the dungeons in years.   
  
"So, you have to study everything on your own?" he asked concernedly.   
  
"Well, yes, but I'm attending the lectures and I'm sure I'll be fine--"  
  
"Young lady, as incredible as your talents may be, Potions is a delicate subject that requires skilled instruction."   
  
"But there's not much I can do about that!" Hermione snapped, then looked up at Barnabas' lopsided grin. "Unless..." the ghost nodded excitedly. Hermione chose this particular moment to realize what time it was.   
  
"Oh no! Barnabas, I'll talk to you later tonight! I have to meet with Dumbledore..." With that, she disappeared and made a mad (but quiet) dash up to the Headmaster's office.  
  
"Acid pops!" she whispered in the gargoyle's ear, jumping out of the way as he sprung aside. Skittering up the stairs, Hermione was mildly irritated to see Dumbledore sitting at his desk, as relaxed and unruffled as ever.   
  
"Good evening, Miss Granger," he smiled as she reappeared and helped herself to a seat in one of the armchairs. "I trust you have by now met our dear Barnabas?" Hermione's eyes jolted to meet the Headmaster's knowing ones. She found herself mildly irritated once again--how did Dumbledore manage to think of everything?   
  
"Oh," he grinned, "it comes from years of practice." Hermione immediately took more care to guard her thoughts, receiving an amused "Good girl!" from the Headmaster.   
  
"So, Miss Granger, do you have any other concerns to share with me?"   
  
"Um, yes... Professor Snape almost caught me today, and I was thinking there might be a more effective way to--"  
  
"Have no worries, dear," he grinned. "You should find that the floo network linking your chambers to my office has been reactivated. Sorry to disappoint you, but you aren't connected to any other location in the wizarding world--couldn't afford any mishaps, now could we?" Hermione sighed. He really did think of everything, but she loathed all things relating to floo. Her thoughts were interrupted by his next question, "Anything else, dear?"   
  
"Er... no," Hermione admitted, ready to leave Dumbledore's office as quickly as possible.   
  
"Excellent, Miss Granger. Dobby will continue to deliver your meals--he is sworn to silence, and besides, the other house elves are still a bit wary of you."   
  
"Wary is an understatement," Hermione remarked under her breath. The elves had almost been at the point of dubbing her 'She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' by the time S.P.E.W. had come to its long-overdue demise. Dumbledore chuckled again, and dismissed Hermione for the evening.   
  
"I expect, next time, to summon you by floo. Until then, Miss Granger." Hermione was getting up to leave when he remarked, "I suppose, since you did not seem concerned about it, that the Marauders' Map is currently in your possession?" Damn, Hermione thought, right again! Harry and Ron had left it with her for the summer--Harry still had a difficult time with things that had belonged to Sirius, and Ron was about as responsible as Professor Snape was warm and welcoming.   
  
"Goodbye, Headmaster," Hermione murmured, and disappeared, looking forward to another conversation with Barnabas. She was quite glad to have him there--she had expected to live completely alone, as Crookshanks had perished with her mother and father. At least she would never be completely by herself for long enough periods of time to become socially dysfunctional, she thought wryly.  
  
Hermione made it back to her chambers without incident, as Mrs. Norris was more concerned with mice until the official beginning of the school year. She knew that, though it seemed far away, the year would begin before she realized it--and she'd get to watch her friends carrying on without her. The unbidden thought twisted Hermione's heart, but, a pragmatist, she knew she had to make the best of things. Harry couldn't be protected all the time by those who had other things to do, and there had to be even more uses for Hermione. After all, who better to accomplish secret missions, who better to spy than an invisible dead person?   
  
Perhaps, Hermione thought, Professor Snape would be the answer to that question. But even he needed help sometimes--she'd seen him looking deathly pale in class the day after a meeting with Voldemort. She grinned--perhaps it was convenient that she lived in the dungeons after all.   
  
That night, she took her elegy from underneath her pillow. The envelope and sheet of paper on which the poem was inscribed were still immaculate, but Hermione wore the edges down ever so slightly as she read the poem over and over again, mulling over the delicate turns of phrase, and thinking about Professor Snape. 


	7. Samaritan

Due to some latent masochistic tendency, Hermione found herself attending the Sorting Ceremony against her better judgement. Even though it would only cause her pain, Hermione had to see all of her friends together and healthy for the beginning of the year--and because this was the last Sorting Ceremony she would ever have the opportunity to witness as a Hogwarts student.   
  
The professors all sat at the Head Table solemnly, eyeing the flock of nervous first years with curiosity. Heads of houses were particularly excited, each hoping for some promising fresh blood to brighten house prospects.  
  
Harry and Ron both stared glumly at the newcomers, sitting close together silently. The space across from them at the table was notably unfilled. Hermione's heart wrenched--she wanted nothing more than to sit across from them and talk like always, even if it was about Quidditch.   
  
She was startled out of her reverie when Ginny, timidly at first, made her way towards the boys. Then, more boldly, she sat in Hermione's place as though she was accustomed to sitting there. Jealousy, acceptance and approval vied for control as Hermione continued to play the silent observer.   
  
Finally, her pragmatic side won out--Harry and Ron shouldn't have to be alone simply because Hermione herself was unable to keep them company. It would be unfair of her to dislike Ginny for doing the right thing and at least trying to fill her shoes. Dumbledore, too, had noticed the scene, and his eyes were twinkling at the younger redhead. McGonagall, too, watched them with an air of resignation.  
  
Harry and Ron seemed to be oblivious to the significance of Ginny's behavior, and conversed with her reluctantly. After a few minutes, they seemed to relax. Ron even managed a weak smile.  
  
Poor Neville, on the other hand, looked utterly lost and alone. Hermione hadn't realized until now how alone he was without her. Shy and insecure, Neville had a hard time fitting in with a group known for its courage. And what would he do in Potions next year?  
  
Hermione's train of thought was again interrupted, this time by the beginning of the sorting ceremony. As the sorting hat sang its song, she remembered her own fear as she had waited to be sorted. When the names began to be called, she watched intently, attempting to guess what house each first-year would belong in before the Sorting Hat declared its own judgment.  
  
The worst, however, was when the feast magically graced the long tables, and Hermione was unable to dig in, or even to tease Ron for stuffing his face in a most undignified manner. A bit tired of watching her friends carry on without her, Hermione's attention turned to her teachers, whose more normal behavior was comforting to her.   
  
Suddenly, Snape's eyes narrowed and she noticed the tension in his right arm. Long, pale fingers moved to grasp his forearm, but then retreated as he rose menacingly from his chair. With a knowing look, Dumbledore nodded at him and then acted as if nothing unusual was going on.  
  
Hermione, however, was curious, and followed the Potions Master silently after he stalked out of the Great Hall. The first-years, she noticed with amusement, were gazing fearfully at the figure in black, billowing robes.  
  
Slipping through the main door in Snape's wake was a dangerious business--he had a tendency of slamming doors behind him, and this occasion was no exception. Taking a mental note to employ caution in the future, Hermione continued to shadow her professor as he entered the Forbidden Forest. Slightly nervous but unwilling to back down, Hermione continued on while trying to remember the route Snape had taken.   
  
Although she had expected to witness an adventure in the forest, Hermione was sorely disappointed when Snape entered a secluded clearing and apparated, his figure melting away into the night. With a sigh, Hermione cautiously began to make her way back to the school while pondering potential remedies to this problem. How was she going to follow Snape without knowing where he was headed? And how would she keep track of him?  
  
Cringing when she heard a bizarre howling sound not too far away, Hermione made sure of her invisibility and then increased her pace. Only after she had passed Hagrid's hut did her thoughts turn once again to Professor Snape.   
  
Of course, a tracking spell would be ridiculous--in this case it was entirely too easy to detect one, especially when the target was a highly trained wizard such as Snape. He would doubtless be extremely paranoid about others spying on him, as he wouldn't want to be caught out himself. It wouldn't be prudent to attach a tracking spell to an object, as there was no guarantee he would carry it with him all the time, and besides, she would probably have to sneak into his quarters in order to enchant it.   
  
But, thought Hermione, what about a potion? She knew he tested his own, so if she were able to bide her time and slip something in before he imbibed one, it would be perfect. The only problem? There were no tracking potions in existence that could trace a person more than half a mile away.   
  
Not to be deterred, Hermione was filled with new hope as she crept down to her dungeon quarters--after all, she was pretty handy with potions herself, and happened to be sharing rooms with a former Hogwarts Potions Master.   
  
After closing her door softly, Hermione could barely contain her excitement.   
  
"Barnabas?" she called. When she didn't receive a prompt reply, she bellowed, "BARNABAS!"   
  
"What in the name of Salazar Slytherin are you screaming at me for?" croaked a drowsy voice. Barnabas, unlike most ghosts, had a tendency to sleep--it had been a pastime during life, and not one he was willing to surrender in the hereafter.  
  
"I, ah..." He gazed at her expectantly. "Do you know how I might be able to alter the current formula for the tracking potion so that I can know the location of someone anywhere in Britain?" He raised an eyebrow.   
  
"That's a tall order, young lady," he scolded. Hermione couldn't tell if he was teasing--his melted face was still difficult for her to read. There was a long pause.   
  
"But, I think it's entirely doable. Get some sleep tonight, and you and I can put that lab to use tomorrow."  
  
"Do we have the proper ingredients?" Hermione asked. She hadn't yet taken stock of the probably outdated substances in the storage cabinets.  
  
"We probably have most things, because the majority of my--our--ingredients are imperishable. However, if we're missing something..." Hermione raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I suppose that's your job." Barnabas' face contorted into an unmistakable smirk. Hermione rolled her eyes, complained feebly, then headed off to bed. Even though she was tired, she found herself staring at a ceiling she couldn't see in a pitch-black room. Her bed felt clammy beneath her, and no matter how she positioned her pillow it seemed to sink limply beneath her head. Her cotton nightgown felt too thin in the frigid dungeon chamber, even though she hadn't been bothered by the temperature before.  
  
After tossing and turning during hours of fitful slumber, Hermione's ears picked up the forlorn yowling of a cat--obviously Mrs. Norris. But this wasn't the sound she made when she had caught a student. Instead, even from a distance, she sounded anguished and distressed. Nervously, Hermione crept out of bed and, after disappearing stealthily, tiptoed out into the hallway. Barnabas was still in the sitting room, dozing in midair before the dying embers of the evening's fire.  
  
Following Mrs. Norris' unpleasant voice, Hermione found herself heading towards the potions classroom. She blanched as the coppery scent of blood washed over her, making her stomach churn.   
  
Mrs. Norris was pacing around a dark lump that had fallen by the door to the Potions classroom. This lump was obviously the source of the bloody scent, and as Hermione cautiously approached the unmoving figure, she was unhappy, though not surprised, to find it was Professor Snape, who was completely unconscious.   
  
Not considering the risks of her actions, Hermione knelt next to her professor and checked for his vital signs. He was bleeding profusely, and his breath was frighteningly shallow. After murmuring a few quick spells to staunch the bleeding, Hermione muttered a quick "mobilicorpus" and skilfully maneuvered Snape's broken body to the infirmary, where she deposited him gently onto one of the unoccupied beds.   
  
Unsure of what to do next, Hermione noticed the light was on behind Madam Pomfrey's office door. Pomfrey would be searching for whomever had deposited the Potions Master so unceremoniously in her infirmary, and Hermione decided it would be better to flee the scene, whether or not she could be found. Feeling vaguely like a small child playing ding-dong-ditch, she rapped sharply on the door. After making sure she heard footsteps approaching from within, Hermione did the only thing she could do in her situation: turned around and ran like hell. 


End file.
